The Rains (Untitled #1)

He crossed his arms, confronting Alex and Patrick. “Phone lines are cut. Internet’s out. Power’s out. We got the emergency generator, but we figure it’s best to use it as little as possible, keep the lights off so we don’t draw the—What’d you call ’em? Hosts? We gotta go through the entire school before we power on the generator, make sure all the light switches and fans are off, anything that’ll alert them. We were just about to get started. So thanks for the quick thinking, Alexandra, but we got it covered.”


“Oh, yeah,” Patrick said, gesturing around. “Looks like you’ve got everything solved, Ben. No need for any new ideas.”

“We’ve managed just fine so far without big bad Patrick Rain. We got a system in place, and that’s the only reason you’re looking at a hundred survivors. We don’t need some blonde waltzing in here giving orders.”

Patrick’s mouth tensed. “I didn’t hear her give any orders.”

“What? She can’t speak up for herself? She needs you to look out for her like you’ve looked out for your kid brother since your parents croaked?”

Patrick set down the shotgun and took a step forward. Ben smiled that twisted smile and raised his fists. “Okay, then.”

Dr. Chatterjee tried to get between Patrick and Ben, but he was too slow; Patrick had already breezed by. “Hang on,” Chatterjee said. “This is the last thing we need right now.”

Patrick and Ben had almost closed in on each other when a scream from outside lofted in through the high windows. The two of them froze. JoJo covered her ears, squeezed her eyes shut. It came again, a child’s cry.

And then suddenly it cut off.

Marina Mendez scampered up the bleachers to the top bench and put her face to the window. “They got Angie B.,” she said.

The silence that followed was broken by a few of the younger kids sobbing. Slowly, I became aware of Patrick and Ben close to me, still locked in their standoff. Patrick stepped back from Ben, holding his hands to the sides. “I’m sorry,” he said. Then he turned to Dr. Chatterjee and the other kids. “I was being stupid.”

Alex glared at Ben. “Have you tried the TV?” she asked.

“Cable lines are cut,” Ben said.

“How ’bout the crappy old one with the rabbit ears in the teachers’ lounge?” Alex said. “You think of that?”

Ben reddened a little. “Who cares about the TV?”

“I do. Because with a TV we can see how far this thing’s spread.” Alex reached over her shoulder, grabbing the handle of her hockey stick and whipping it free of the backpack. It looked like she was unsheathing a sword. “I’ll go get it,” she said. “You stay here and act important.”

She turned and pushed out through the swinging doors. Patrick started after her, but Britney wiped her face and said, “It’s okay, Patrick. You stay and help figure things out here. I’ll go with her.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. Britney grabbed a baseball bat and jogged out after her best friend, her ponytail bouncing from side to side, the bright ribbon flashing into view.

“Okay,” Chatterjee said. “Chance, will you come up here and explain to everyone what you explained to me?”

I walked to the front, sensing all those sets of eyes on me, a familiar self-consciousness welling in my chest. I felt better when Cassius padded over and sat next to me. I cleared my throat. “Look, I’m not sure about this, but there’s some stuff I thought might be right, maybe.”

“Chance,” Patrick said. “Just tell them.”

So I did. I went through what we’d managed to work out about the spores and the Hosts. Saying it out loud again, I realized just how much we still didn’t know. I felt like an impostor standing up there acting like I was some kind of expert. It didn’t help that Ben stood in the front, arms crossed. A few times Patrick urged me to speak louder so the kids in the back could hear, too. It was hard, but I got through it.

As soon as I was done, the questions started pouring in.

Eve asked, “Why do some of them swell up and explode and others chase kids around and look at the ground and stuff?”

“I have no idea,” I said.

“In some species it’s not uncommon to see differentiated roles,” Dr. Chatterjee said, stepping in to help me. “Like ants and bees have drones, workers, and queens. Or it could be that the first-generation Hosts serve to spread the infection and the second-generation Hosts…” He paused. “Act differently.”

Little Jenny White raised her hand next. “I stabbed Mrs. Johnson through the stomach. And she lived.”

Her cheeks were flushed, and her chin trembled. Nine years old or so, standing there in a bloody dress, talking about putting a knife through her neighbor’s gut. A week ago it would have been unthinkable. A day ago it would have been unthinkable.

When Jenny spoke again, her voice was hoarse. “So how do you kill them?”

“We think it’s their brains that are effected,” I said. “So you gotta shoot them in the head.”

Marina Mendez piped up from her post by the window atop the bleachers. “Just like z—”

“Don’t say it,” Rocky cut in.

Dezi Siegler, one of Ben’s buddies, called out from the back, “But we don’t have any guns. Except your brother. And you.”

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